


admit it, eve.

by vouloirs



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, I.... this is gratuitous., Masturbation, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23893372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vouloirs/pseuds/vouloirs
Summary: post-3x03, except there’s no break-in bear and villanelle just calls eve on the phone like a normal person!
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 7
Kudos: 206





	admit it, eve.

“Admit it, Eve. You wish I was here.” 

She feels her fingers begin to hurt as they tighten around the edge of her phone in reflexive response to the sound of _her_ voice, the voicemail still on loop. A voicemail from an unfamiliar number calling that she’d just decided to decline. She had a rule: no calls from anyone she hadn’t saved as a contact. Especially now that she was _done_ with all that MI-6 espionage nonsense. It saved her plenty of time. No more prank calls, or those dreadful telemarketers. But now she was regretting it, because _of course_ she would call from a burner phone on the day she’d chosen to tackle Eve in a public bus driving through the middle of London.

The voice rattles through the speaker of her phone again, distorted just enough to force the memory of what Villanelle sounded like to the surface of her brain. Soft like velvet as she whispered against her ear, with her hand wrapped tightly in the front of Eve’s shirt.

She shivers, and she can almost convince herself it’s because her apartment’s cold. Her fingers drum on the surface of the bed beside her, restless and waiting. The phone screen stares back at her, the cold white light almost mocking. Who knew if she’d even pick up? If she still had the phone, or if she’d dumped it in the trash as soon as she’d finished leaving the message? Not Eve, that was for sure. She’d gotten sloppy at predicting Villanelle’s patterns.

But _hell_. She felt the hunger deepening within her, an urge to dial back and see what would happen, even if that made her weak. Eve prods the screen and brings the phone back up to her ear, using one hand to maneuver her duvet and getting under the covers while the tinny ringtone continues to play.

“Only ten minutes? Wow, Eve, you’re getting soft on me.” 

She curses inwardly. The amusement in Villanelle’s voice is apparent, and it’s abundantly clear it was just _bait_ , a way to test Eve’s resolve. Her self-control.

“Look — I’m not calling to play whatever **game** you’re trying to get me to play. What do you _want_ from me?”

“Oh, _Eve_.” The name is long and drawn out, as if Villanelle is savouring each delicious sound, rolling her name around her mouth like a hard candy. “I want what I’ve always wanted.”

Eve scoffs, rolling her eyes even though she knows the other can’t see, a cheap attempt to convince herself the conversation isn’t going exactly the way she’d wanted. “What, for me to become a murderous psychopath?”

“No, my dear Eve, I want you to _surrender_.” Her voice lowers, a beautiful husky tone that seems to crawl deep into Eve’s chest. “To what you really want. To who you really are.”

“Okay, so… to become a murderous psychopath killing _you_ , then?”

Villanelle laughs, and the light and breathy sound quickens Eve’s pulse. “That’s not what you really want.” The pause stretches and fills the space between them, but Eve can’t bring herself to break it. Not yet. “You _want me_ , Eve, don’t lie to yourself. You kissed me, remember?”

And she does. God forgive her, she remembers it like she’s feeling Villanelle’s lips petal-soft against hers again, the surprise flashing in her eyes when she pulls her in, the way her hand slips and loosens before crushing the fabric of her shirt again. 

“I, uh —” Her throat tightens, a mix of arousal and embarrassment. The next line comes out oddly stiff, though she crosses her fingers and prays that Villanelle won’t notice. “It was just a strategic maneuver. You fell for it.”

“ _I fell for it_.” Villanelle’s words lilt in exaggerated petulance. “It was a good kiss, though. Bet you’ve been dreaming of doing that for a long time now.”

And she sounds so cocky, so sure she’s been the subject of Eve’s every thought and fantasy since she left her _bleeding_ in the middle of some Roman ruins. The same arrogance she’d had in the voicemail that’d goaded her into pressing the call button. Eve presses her lips together tightly and remains silent, as she counts out breaths for herself. 

Inhale, two, three, four.

Exhale, two, three, four.

Villanelle doesn’t have the same effect on her anymore. She can’t. What would it say about Eve, for her to be driven half-mad with longing for someone who shot her and walked away without checking to see if she was still breathing? What would it say about her still willingly staying on the line, playing the very games she’d sworn off?

“Eve, what are you doing?” The tinny voice breaks her train of thought, drawing her back to this absurd reality. Sitting on the phone with an assassin. One who'd tried to attack her on a bus in the middle of London. One who'd shot her and left her for dead. One she'd been chasing for months. “You’ve gone all quiet — are you still thinking about the kiss? About the way I pinned you on the ground in front of everyone on the bus?” The easy singsong of her voice recounting their last encounter sends a warm rush between Eve’s legs, and she stifles a gasp with her free hand. 

“Oh, don’t think I didn’t hear that, baby. Are you..” Villanelle’s voice cracks a little, as she almost purrs the next words. “Are you touching yourself listening to me? _Again_?”

“Fuck you,” Eve breathes out, the words steel-edged even as her resolve falters. 

“I’m sure you’d love to. Maybe we can do that the next time I see you, hm?”

God, she must’ve really done something bad to earn this sort of karmic retribution. A scowl spreads across her lips as her legs shift uncomfortably on the bed, some small part of her mind considering if it’d be worth it to just hang up and rub one out.

“Eve? Are you listening to me?” She can hear the increasing urgency lacing Villanelle’s words, her petulance at not being the sole object of Eve’s attention clear. “I want to hear you, Eve. I want you to touch yourself. _For me_. Can you do that?”

Fuck it. She’d be insufferable either way, and at least this way she’d get _something_ out of this all. Slipping one hand beneath the waistband of her pants, she pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing it in slow circles as a moan dragged its way out of her throat. In that moment, that sound was all the agreement Villanelle needed to hear.

“Good girl,” the familiar voice crackles out of her phone’s speaker, and it’s clear that listening in has had an effect on Villanelle as well. Her breaths have become audible, and a small almost-imperceptible gasp makes Eve realize she’s not the only one who’d been left all pent up from their encounter earlier. 

Pushing one finger into herself, Eve lets out another moan, just a little louder. Part of her wants to just fuck herself hard and fast, the way Villanelle might, if they were here together, but then this would end too soon. 

“Tell me, Villanelle,” Eve says as her lips curve up into a smile, “what would you do to me if you _were_ here right now?”

The shift in energy is palpable even over the phone — it’s half a surrender, offered to Villanelle all wrapped up in a bow. The silence is charged for a few moments, as Eve shucks off her shorts, waiting. 

“I’d pin you into the bed, and —” Her words are interrupted by a guttural moan, and Eve’s imagination is caught imagining what Villanelle looked like while she touched herself. Her own hand increases in pace, the other coming up to circle a nipple with one thumb. 

“And pull your panties down,” Villanelle continues, her words more thickly accented than usual, “So I could taste you. I’ve been wondering how you’d feel under my mouth, Eve.”

“Fuck.” She adds another finger, wrist working quickly as she pumps her fingers inside herself, hips lifting with each thrust for more impact. The bed creaks a little from her movements, and a flush rises to colour her cheeks.

“Oh, you’re doing so well, baby,” Villanelle murmurs across the line, “fucking yourself just the way I would.”

Eve hums in satisfaction, her mind too foggy and unfocused from pleasure to form a coherent thought. She’s doing as much as she can with her own two hands, but something’s still missing.

  
“Wish you were here,” she rasps, knowing that Villanelle probably gets some sick pleasure from knowing she predicted her so accurately, “so you could pull my hair, actually pin me down and fuck me as hard as you want.” Her words are punctuated with shallow breaths and the soft sound of her fingers sliding into her own wetness and _god_ , she wishes Villanelle can hear it all through the phone. Hear how much of a mess she is, to know how easy it is for her to unravel Eve still.

“Oh, Eve,” Villanelle lets out a small laugh, half-disbelief and half-appreciation. “You’ve got a dirty mouth on you. I would never have known.”

Part of her wants to make up a snappy retort, but she’s otherwise occupied. She’s wet, and so _close_. Squeezing her eyes shut, she slips into a familiar rhythm with her fingers circling her clit.

A small whine escapes her lips as she grinds her hips upwards to meet her hand. “I — I’m close,” she says breathily.

“Okay, now ask me.” Villanelle speaks, smooth and firm.

“Ask you?” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion, her fingers faltering for a second.

“Ask me if you can come.” 

Eve curses. She can see it in her mind already, Villanelle’s smirk as she waits for Eve to give herself over, to let go. And there’s an ache in her heart to just do it, to surrender control and ride the wave that is building and building within her.

“I — Why should I?” She tries to make her retort sound indignant, unbothered, but the body never lies. It’s clear as day to the both of them that Eve’s too close to be bluffing for real.

“We’re past asking now, Eve. You had a chance and you blew it.” Her voice is low and rough, almost _predatory_ . She’s sure Villanelle is enjoying herself. “Now you have to _beg._ ”

Her breath hitches, the steel-sharp edge in Villanelle’s voice only sending a fresh wave of arousal through her body. She can’t hold out anymore; it’s time to fold.

  
“Pl — Please, Villanelle.” She sounds whiny, needy, but she can’t bring herself to care about that anymore. “Please let me come. I — I really need to now. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Fuck,” She hears Villanelle’s gasp in response, a twin to her own hitched breaths. “You’re so _good_ at begging, you dirty girl. You can come when you want.”

She sighs in relief at the permission, her fingers going back to work as her mind slowly fades away into blissful silence. The circles she’d been rubbing into herself turned frantic not long after, and she arches off her bed with one long moan, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

After a few peaceful moments riding out the aftershocks, she pulled the phone over, clear-headed and ready now to give Villanelle a piece of her mind. 

_Call ended._

Fucking hell.


End file.
